


Unholy

by pancakezrule



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alcoholic Sheriff, Alpha Scott McCall, Demonic Possession, Demons, Derek Hale is Bad at Feelings, Derek Has Issues, Hunters, Hurt Stiles, M/M, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Possessed, Sheriff Stilinski Knows, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John, Stiles Feels, Suicide, sterek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-08
Updated: 2014-02-08
Packaged: 2018-01-11 07:24:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1170285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pancakezrule/pseuds/pancakezrule
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An unholy soul won't mend itself. An enemy spy won't give in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unholy

**Author's Note:**

> Hello. I've been the only person to read this so far, so tell me if there are any mistakes and I'll fix them. 
> 
> Sorry if it's weird. People have been telling me I write weird and confusing things. *shrugs*
> 
> Oh, and it stopped italicizing things halfway through or so. Sorry. I have no idea how to fix that.

_"And the living prayed to their gods and begged for rescue from the armies of the dead, and there was no answer. For there are no gods."  
\- Stacia Kane_

You know how some people put their kids up for adoption when they can't support them? Or how some parents send their kids off to some place because they're a danger to themselves and/or others? How about when such people leave their children in the middle of the mall, promising to be back, only to change their phone numbers and move? 

Stiles has seen those kids. They're at church with him, if you can even call this a church, but they are locked inside a different cell. 

_It's not a cell, Stiles._ Rick always reminds him, calmly turning the page of his book as Stiles clenches and unclenches his fists. _It's your room._

Stiles can't call it a room. It's a cell. He's a prisoner in this _"church"_ , and he won't ever leave until the demons get out of him.

To make matters worse, the other kids don't even look at Stiles. He can hear them whispering about him, and every once and awhile one will glance at Stiles, but that's it.

And it fucking hurts. It's hard being what he is, and that's something un-identifiable. 

Demonic? Haunted? Possessed? 

Take your pick. Everyone has had a different opinion on him and what he is. Stiles told his dad about the demons with the glowing yellow eyes, and how he is one of them.

His dad called him crazy and told Stiles to get some sleep. Stiles brought it up the next morning, warning his dad that he is dangerous and needs to see Deaton. Ever since he wrecked his Jeep, Stiles' dad won't let the boy drive without knowing exactly where and why he is going.

It's a stupid rule, Stiles thinks. But he can still do whatever he wants if he swings it by his dad first.

His dad told Stiles to go to school. That evening when Stiles got home, he sat on the top of the stairs and listened to his dad talk quietly with Melissa McCall and Deaton in the living room.

"He's crazy." His dad said quietly. Stiles imagines him running a hand down his face, eyes screwed shut as he shakes his head. "Whatever he did with that tree, it's really messed him up."

He imagines Melissa placing a hand on his dad's shoulder. "It's not your fault, John. It's nothing Stiles can help, either."

"You said he was possessed?" Deaton asks. Stiles makes it so that the veterinarian walks across the room, brow furrowed as he thinks.

"Yeah." His dad replies. "He said he was one of them. That's pretty much the same thing, right?"

There's a moment of silence before Deaton sighs. "He needs help. The only problem is that I can't do anything for Stiles. He needs help from someone closer to a higher power."

His dad snorts. "Like some kind of god?"

"Yes." Deaton continues, indifferent to Stiles' dad and the little noises he is making. "Didn't Claudia have a brother?"

"Rick." His dad nods in Stiles' head. "He's a Priest. Preacher. Whatever you want to call it."

Two days later, Stiles was shoved inside a van and shipped off to Ricks "church". To Stiles, it's hell. To the other kids, well, they actually seem to be enjoying themselves. Most of the time. Some of the time... Occasionally enjoying themselves. Yeah, occasionally. 

The hardest part isn't that his dad gave up on him. The hardest part is letting go of everything he's grown to love. Stiles lays on his back at night, haunted by the voices of his family and friends. His dad, glass in hand, staring with cold eyes at his son. Allison looking at Stiles like he's a ghost. Scott never meeting Stiles' gaze. And Derek ignoring Stiles during every encounter.

_Don't pretend. Don't pretend like you don't know it's your fault. You shouldn't have listened to the voices. You shouldn't have listened to them, or anyone, for that matter._

"You look like her." His dad says in his head, voice thick and dripping like honey. "You look so much like her, Stiles." He slurs on, swirling the drink in his shot glass. "And you're killing me." 

It's been three days since he's had sleep, because he keeps seeing their faces when he closes his eyes. They hide right behind his eyelids, waiting for Stiles to slip off into sleep and terrorize him. 

He blocks out the voices during the day, but it's harder at night. Stiles shifts in his bed, the white sheets stif under his limbs. He feels like he's underwater, his arms and legs anchored down by cinder blocks.

It hurts to move. It hurts to breathe. It hurts to lay in his bed and stare at his ceiling.

It hurts to think. It hurts to remember. 

God, it just hurts. 

He's never thought about suicide before. But the past couple of weeks? He won't deny that it's been a constant idea in the back of his head. 

Of course, his uncle won't let him out of sight long enough to do anything. His uncle locks Stiles in this tiny room at night with a small, barred window on the steel door. 

_Fucking prick._ Stiles thinks, pursing his lips like he tasted something sour. _Thinks he can fix me with a stupid book and holy thoughts._

He laughs aloud, shaking his head. "You can't! You can't do anything! Do you hear me, Uncle Rick? You. Can't. Fix. Me." 

He's tired of being stuck here. It's gotten so bad that he's started talking back to the voices in his head. Most of the time it's Derek, yelling at Stiles when he messes something up. 

He can't help it, his hands shake so badly now. Stiles can't type, he can't mend any clothes, can't tie a bow, can't even open a door without failing at least three times. 

And Derek loves to criticize him. Uncle Rick says it's not really Derek speaking to Stiles, that it's the demons living inside of him. Stiles flips Rick off when he turns around, feeling smug with his petty victory. 

Stiles almost doesn't realize he's still talking aloud. The voice echoing off the cinder block walls of his room is strange, and it takes the boy a moment to realize it's his own. He falls silent, staring at the ceiling. 

His door clicks open, the deadbolt sliding out of the way. Stiles doesn't say anything when Uncle Rick steps inside, or when he sits on the end of the boy's bed.

"Stiles."

He doesn't reply. He lays there, lips pressed in a thin line. Stiles blinks, keeping his gaze on the cement blocks above his head.

"I know you can hear me, Stiles."

He counts the cobwebs above him, trying to figure out which silvery strands belong to which web. 

"Don't make me force you up."

Maybe it's just one big cobweb.

"Fine." 

There's a sharp pain in his leg, right above his left knee. Stiles opens his mouth to ask what it is when he yawns, darkness billowing across his vision.

He doesn't even get to see the expression his uncle wears before he's yanked into a dark sleep. 

xxx

Stiles hates the church, if you can even call it that. But tonight? Tonight it seems like the others hate it too.

They are screaming when he wakes up. Stiles knows exactly where he is, too. He's laying in the floor of Ricks office, on the carpet, staring at the stain glass windows.

The other kids wail from the hallway, and Stiles sits up with a groan. It's not the first time Rick has stuck him with the concoction of medications that put Stiles to sleep. It's not the first time he's woken up in this horrible office.

He forces himself to stand and wobble towards the door. He opens it slowly, holding his breath as the hinges squeal.

No one comes running down the hallway. 

The wooden stairs creak when he climbs down them, heading back down to the underground holding place.

_'It's a warning, Stiles. Go back to Rick.'_

"Shut up, Derek."

The voices used to hold Stiles back, but Derek's voice is different. It makes him want to do things, dangerous things, things that could hurt him. 

_'You never listen do me, do you?'_

And he doesn't. The Derek in his head can threaten Stiles, and that it does, but it can't actually do anything to hurt the boy.

Not like the real Derek with the teeth and the claws. 

The screams sound the same as they do from inside the room, only louder. He slips down one of the hallways, picturing one of the fire escape maps he's seen posted around the facility.

He stops in front of one of the doors, the screaming coming from behind the steel trap. He stands on his tip toes, peeking inside the small, barred square hole.

Derek is standing inside the cell, staring back at Stiles. The girl is lying with her eyes closed, facing the wall, screaming. She's asleep. Of course she's asleep, Derek isn't really there.

Derek wrenches the metal door open, stepping toward Stiles. Stiles takes a step back. 

"You're not real. You're not real." 

"I am." Derek replies, glowing blue eyes flickering across the boy. "Let me take you home. Let me help you, Stiles."

"You won't! You left me, and you let them take me when you came back!" He screams, balling his hands into fists. "Why the hell would you come here? To watch me suffer?"

"Stop yelling!" Derek hisses, glancing around the hallway. "You'll make them come."

"Why are you here?"

"To help you."

He hears the feet on the stairs, and Stiles freezes. "Stiles!" It's Rick. Of course it's Rick. Who else would it be?

"Stiles-" Derek starts, only to be cut off by the human.

"Since you're not really Derek, I'll see you when I fall asleep." Stiles promises, turning on his heel and running back down the hall toward Rick. 

When he reaches his uncle, Rick wastes no time in grabbing Stiles by the wrist and dragging the boy back to his office. Rick throws Stiles into his office chair, frowning at the boy.

"Do I need to punish you, Stiles?"

The boy shakes his head, eyes wide as he stares up at his uncle. Rick only grins, taking off his belt. "I think I do. We know we aren't supposed to wander the halls, right Stiles?"

"Someone was screaming-"

"Did I say you could speak?" Rick clicks his tongue, shaking his head. "It looks like the demons are controlling you again, aren't they?"

"No-"

"Don't worry, Stiles." Rick says, reaching into his back pocket and bringing out a small tube. "I won't let them take over your body. It's the least I can do for Claudia." 

Rick uses one hand to cuff Stiles to the chair, with the other, he pours the liquid down the boy's throat. Within minutes, Stiles can't put up a fight. He can barely keep his eyes open. 

"Now, now." Rick coos, tying Stiles to the chair. He grabs a blindfold, wrapping it around the boy's face. 

"It's going to be alright, Stiles." He continues, gagging the boy so he doesn't wake the others or alarm any guarding policemen. 

"I'll make it better."

xxx

He wakes up in his cell. Or bedroom. Or whatever you want to call it. Stiles groans at the memories that flood his brain, turning and rolling onto his stomach. He presses his face into the pillow, ignoring the voices coming from the other side of his door. 

"Stiles?" The door opens. "Are you awake?"

 _You need to go the fuck away._ Of course, no one ever listens to Stiles or his thoughts.

"I have a letter for you, Stiles. It looks like it's important." 

A letter? Stiles hasn't gotten a letter for the entire three months he's been inside this place. He sits up, staring at Rick until he hands the paper over.

The envelope is already opened. Rick must have read it already.

Stiles holds the thick paper in his hands, staring at the words until they blur together. He doesn't need to read anything else. Stiles knows how it happened. He knows, because they told him it would happen. 

They told him that he was dangerous, and this only proved it.

His dad always drank his pain away. He never could get drunk enough to get Claudia out of his head, though. She was always there, and Stiles made things worse, and he _knew_ he made things worse. He just looks so much like her. It even hurts Stiles to look in the mirror.

And when Stiles left, no one knew how much his dad blamed himself. For years, he'd tried to make things better. Tried to be everything for Stiles.

Now he couldn't even save his son.

Stiles knows how it went. He watches it as he stares at the blurred words, forcing himself to be numb. 

His dad gulped down the rest of the whiskey in his bottle, rolling the glass between his fingers. He barked out a dry laugh before throwing the glass at the wall, the bottle shattering into a million little pieces. 

He shot himself. Stiles sees his dad sitting on the bed, eyes glassy and red from the alcohol. His dad brings the gun to his head, placing the barrel against his temple. 

He watches his dad pull the trigger, and the blood that splatters across the sheets, and his dad's slack jaw as he falls face-first into the pillow. 

He lays face down, clinging to the picture of Stiles and Claudia before his wife got sick. Stiles was so little, his front teeth missing. 

There's a note behind the one from the police station.  
 _I'll love her until I die. I'll keep him safe until I can't. I'll stay here until they get to me, like they got to my son._

They buried him next to Claudia. Stiles likes to pretend the space on the other side of his mom is reserved for him. Sometimes when he's lying in bed, he pretends like he's under the ground, too.

Stiles doesn't say anything. He hands Rick the paper, flashing his uncle a slight smile. "Thank you for letting me know, Uncle Rick." 

Rick sighs, placing a hand on Stiles' shoulder. He helps the boy to his feet and leads him out of the cell. 

They climb the stairs to the top part of the building, all the while Rick keeping his hand on Stiles.

To anyone watching, it would appear that he was being comforting. But in reality, Rick is digging his fingers into the boy's shoulder, forcing him into the actual church part of the building. 

They have to walk through the rain. Apparently these people haven't evolved enough to realize that windows are important. Or maybe they want people to get wet so that they'll go into church to get dry.

Sneaky.

He leads Stiles down the row of pews, their shoes squealing on the floor, stopping at the front of a couple of steps. Rick pushes the boy to his knees, forcing Stiles to look at the wooden cross.

"Your Father can save you, Stiles. Your Father in Heaven can-"

"Shut up." Stiles hisses. Derek's voice starts to say something in his head, but the boy blocks him out. "You shut up. I'm tired of hearing your shit, okay?"

"Don't curse in your Fathers house, boy."

"My father is dead!" Stiles screams, pushing Ricks hands off of him. He waves the letter in his hand. "See? Do you see this?" He stands, pointing at the cross. "He hasn't done anything. My mother couldn't be saved by Him, and neither could my actual father. He is nothing to me."

"Don't say that!" Rick yells back, knocking Stiles onto the floor with a swift blow to his chest. "Don't speak about Him that way. He gave you life. Maybe He sent the demons to you so you'd find Him. Maybe He-"

"Stop!" Stiles scoots back, Rick taking a step closer. The man picks up a Bible, waving it in Stiles' face.

"If you won't accept Him, then you will accept me. You are in my custody now, got it? You are _mine_ now, and I will show you the right way. I will cleanse your unholy soul."

Stiles pushes himself up, moving to stand behind a pew like it could save him from Rick. Rick continues to yell at him, face red, until he realizes Stiles is raising his hand.

"What?" Rick asks, running a hand through his hair. "What, Stiles? Why are you raising your hand?"

"I have to say something, Uncle Rick."

"I'm pretty much your dad now, Stiles. Don't call me that."

"You know what?" Stiles laughs, the sound almost crazed. His knuckles are white from where they are gripping the curved top of the pew, face flushed and wet hair matted to his forehead from the rain. 

His uncle quirks a brow, nodding his head for the boy to continue. Stiles stares at the large book in the mans hand, swallowing the lump in his throat and darting his eyes up to meet his uncles eyes.

"I honestly don't give a fuck about what you say. You're not my dad and no matter how hard you try, you won't _ever_ be him." 

It's probably one of the few times, if not the first, where the Bible has been used as a weapon in the church, and in the hands of a preacher at that.

xxx

Sometimes, Stiles likes to pretend he's something he's not. Like when Rick ties him up, Stiles pretend he's back in World War II.

He's an American soldier inside a Nazi camp, tied and blindfolded in an interrogation room. They're trying to figure out why he's there, but Stiles doesn't say anything.

"Sprechen!" They yell at him. _"Speak!"_

But he doesn't. He won't. He never will. 

They threaten Stiles with a gun to his head. "Sprechen, oder wir werden dich töten!"

_"Speak, or we will kill you!"_

An unholy soul won't mend itself. An enemy spy won't give in. 

Stiles dies at the hands of German officers, and he wakes in his bed groggy, sore, and fully aware of what actually happened to him.

xxx

One day, Rick takes all the kids to the church and makes them sit in the pews. He preaches to them, and hands everyone a Bible. Stiles is too busy staring at the other kids to pay attention. 

The girl who was screaming has claw marks up and down her arms, and her nails are bloody. There's no doubt that she did it to herself. 

The boy next to her has his Bible open, and he's staring down at the pages with an intensity that Stiles once had when he was trying to figure out a supernatural problem back home. 

He doesn't get the chance to examine any of the others before Rick calls him out of the crowed. "Stiles? Please tell everyone about your experience with God."

"God?" Stiles asks. "You mean the God who killed both of my parents and cursed me with demons? That one?" 

One of the policemen start leading kids out of the congregation at Stiles' outburst, but he doesn't stop. Stiles stands, holding his Bible in his hands. "I haven't been saved." He says, voice dropping lower as he steps toward Rick.

"You can be." Rick says calmly, knowing that Stiles won't try anything with a crowed around them. "God has saved Alyssa."

The girl who was screaming nods. "I don't have nightmares anymore." She says. "I was saved. Now I'm getting to go home. My mom says she's excited that I'm better." She smiles slightly.

_Well good for you, Alyssa._

"So have I." The boy next to her says. "My aunt is going to take me in."

"What is this?" Stiles asks, staring at Rick. "Why did you bring me in here?"

"It's a celebration." Rick says simply. "Everyone has made such good progress that they're all leaving today."

"Even me?" Stiles asks, a flicker of hope blooming in his chest.

"Not a chance."

One of the policemen grab for Stiles, but the boy ducks. Another officer picks the boy up easily. He hasn't been eating much, and the lad has really shrank within the past few months.

"Set him down, Charlie." Rick says. "He won't hurt me. Take the kids out of here, will you?"

Charlie does what he's told, leading the others out of the chapel. Stiles stands there, face flushed, staring at Rick with his fists clenched at his sides.

"Stiles. Do you know what the Bible says about your kind?"

"My _kind_?" Stiles shakes his head. "No. No, I don't. Why don't you tell me about my _kind _."__

__"Mark 9:29 says, 'And he said to them, “This kind cannot be driven out by anything but prayer.”'. I need you understand that I'm only trying to help." Rick says, looking at Stiles with a mask of thoughtfulness._ _

__Stiles only shakes his head. "No. You don't want to help me. This," he gestures around him, "isn't helping me. You aren't helping me. No one can help me."_ _

__

__"Fine." Rick sighs, stepping down to where Stiles is. "Go back to your room, Stiles."_ _

__The voices poking around inside of the boy's head perk up at that comment, making Stiles clench his teeth. "My room is at home. The place you keep me? That's a _cell_. Say it with me now, Uncle Rick. Ce-"_ _

__

__"This is your home, Stiles! This is your home, and I can keep you safe. Do you want to go back there? Do you want to be haunted by demons again?" Rick asks, cutting Stiles off._ _

__"You're worse than any monster out there, Uncle Rick." Stiles spits, multiple voices yelling at him inside his head._ _

___'Hurt him. Do something, Stiles. He's afraid of you. Do it now.'_ Derek's voice overpowers the others, the intensity chilling the boy straight to the bone._ _

__"No." He replies to the Derek in his head. "No."_ _

___'Do it now, before he escapes!'_ _ _

__"No! I don't want to hurt anyone!" He says. "I can't hurt anyone else. I can't do it, Derek."_ _

__He doesn't see Rick grab the candlestick. He's too busy yelling at the voices in his head._ _

___'If you don't, I'll leave.'_ _ _

__Rick hits Stiles upside the head, knocking the boy to the ground. His head cracks against the floor, his vision blurring._ _

__The painting of Jesus on the wall seems sad, and Stiles feels a pang of guilt for fighting in such a place before being swallowed once again by the darkness._ _

__xxx_ _

__Rick wakes him early on the morning after everyone is gone. He barges into the room and announces that Stiles better get ready, because there's a special guest coming to see him._ _

__Stiles being Stiles, he assumes it's Melissa McCall or someone else who is finally coming to take him back home._ _

__He pulls on the cleanest dirty grey t-shirt he has and his least hole-filled jeans. The boy spends a couple minutes trying to take is wild mess of hair before giving up. One of the policemen outside his room tells Stiles it's time to go, and hands the boy a strip of minty gum._ _

__Stiles chews the stick of gum all the way up the stairs, working through the possibilities of his mystery guest. Hell, he'd even take Peter if that was a possibility._ _

__What he doesn't expect is to find Rick sitting in his office with a man cloaked in white, both chatting like they've known each other for years until Stiles steps into the room. Then it's like someone has turned the thermostat down a hundred degrease, and the awkward tension is almost tangible._ _

__"Stiles." Rick beams, patting his desk with a hand. "Take a seat, will you?"_ _

__"I'd rather stand, thank you." He replies, glancing warily at the other man in the room._ _

__"Very well then. Stiles, this is Dr. Peterson. He works at Sunny Meadows-"_ _

__"Insane asylum?" Stiles takes a step back, Rick sighing and shaking his head._ _

__"No, Stiles. It's a hospital. Please calm down, Dr. Peterson is just here to observe you. Maybe he can help with our.. _Special_ situation."_ _

__Dr. Peterson nods. Rick clasps his hands in front of him, staring at Stiles expectantly. The boy makes a point to chew his gum loudly._ _

__"If you don't mind, Dr. Peterson has asked me to talk to you about some things before he makes any decisions."_ _

__Stiles bobs his head, and Rick continues._ _

__"Do you hear voices, Stiles?"_ _

__"I hear your voice, Rick."_ _

__His uncle's jaw twitches. "So, are you friends with the voices inside your head?" Rick asks, tilting his head._ _

__"No. I'm not crazy. And right now I'm only hearing you."_ _

__Rick snorts, making a note on his clipboard. He ignores the last comment, simply continuing. "Do you at least get along with them?"_ _

__"Sometimes."_ _

__Rick hums, releasing Stiles back to his room with a curt nod to one of the policemen. The doctor beside him glances between Stiles and Rick. "I'll take him back with me, if that's alright with you."_ _

__Rick nods as Stiles backs up some more. "That would be lovely, thank you. No amount of my religious schooling is impacting him. Maybe he just needs to leave."_ _

__"It's for the best." Dr. Peterson replies._ _

__"It just kills me to do this to him. I promised his father I'd take care of him, but then his father died and I just.. It's so hard."_ _

____It must be so hard, Uncle Rick._ Stiles thinks, letting two policemen escort him to his room. _It must be killing you, watching me, and knowing that I'm something you can't save with a few words and scripture from that book of yours.___ _

__He silently walks back down the creaky stairs and stands still as the officers unlock his door. One of them says he'll take it from here, and the others make their way back up to the real world._ _

__Charlie, the policeman from the chapel, stops Stiles before he enters his cell. "Hey, listen. Dr. Peterson isn't taking you to Sunny Meadows."_ _

__"What?" Stiles pauses mid-step, staring at Charlie with a confused expression. "What do you mean he's not taking me to Sunny Meadows? Rick said he was-"_ _

__"When do you ever listen to Rick?" Charlie shakes his head. "Listen to me, okay? Dr. Peterson was friends with the Hale family. He's taking you to someone who requested your service."_ _

__"Requested my service?" _ _Peter, maybe?___ _

__"Yes. Just follow Dr. Peterson when he comes to get you. Don't fight it, okay? Here." He digs around in the pocket of his dark kaki pants. Charlie holds out a closed fist to Stiles, waiting for the boy to extend his arm to drop the contents into Stiles' palm. "Take these before you go to sleep."_ _

__Stiles nods, shoving the little orange capsules into his back pocket. "How do I know I can trust you?"_ _

__"Would you rather stay here with Rick and be tied up every night?" Charlie asks. Stiles must have paled at the question, because the man nods once. "That's what I though. Now go, before we get caught."_ _

__Stiles stands in the middle of his room, frowning at the walls on either side of him. Who would want his assistance while he's this messed up?_ _

__Who would do anything for a little more power?_ _

____It must be Peter. It has to be Peter.__ _ _

__xxx_ _

__When the policemen do their nightly routine to signal bedtime, Stiles fishes out the orange pills from his back pocket. He waits until two men pass his door before shoving the capsules into his mouth and dry swallowing them. The boy winces at the way they scrape the inside of his throat, and his stomach grumbles at his lack of dinner._ _

__But Stiles can't bring himself to care._ _

__He's getting out of this place, no matter what it takes._ _

__The boy strips off his t-shirt and shucks out of his jeans, kicking the material off into a pile on the floor. He crawls into bed and bunches the sheets up over his shoulders._ _

__Stiles doesn't even get the chance to fall asleep. He's bombarded by a crushing feeling in his chest. He gasps, clawing at his shirt._ _

__The boy jolts up in bed, throwing the sheet off of him. He lets out a strangled cry as he falls off of the mattress and onto the floor, body convulsing and flailing without his control._ _

__He shouldn't have trusted Charlie. He shouldn't have taken the pills._ _

__At least he won't have to deal with Rick anymore._ _

__Stiles doesn't fight the darkness anymore. He lets it carry him into a painless abyss, and cherishes the trip for once._ _

__xxx_ _

__Derek paces the length of his loft, face scrunched up in a grimace as he walks. Peter sits in a chair off to the side, thrumming his claws against his thigh._ _

__"Can you maybe stop that? You're causing a draft." Peter sighs, shifting in his chair._ _

__Derek snarls at his uncle, fangs exposed. Peter rolls his eyes. "Oh yes. I forgot, you're being stupid and wolffish again. What is it this time? That human?"_ _

__"It's Cora. She should be back by now." Derek replies, voice muffled by the longer than usual teeth in his mouth._ _

__"Look, Derek. She said she had an appointment, and I say we let her be. If she's not back by morning, we go looking for her." Peter suggests, leaning his head back. "Sound good?"_ _

__Derek huffs in defeat, stalking into the kitchen and busying himself with organizing the cabinets. Peter groans, throwing a hand across his face._ _

__"God, not the Tupperware again."_ _

__xxx_ _

__Stiles wakes up in the back of a truck, under a pile of old blankets and tarps that reek of paint. He coughs, trying to dig himself out of the mess, only to inhale sawdust and more fumes that make his head spin._ _

__"Woah, settle down back there." A voice calls, the sound distorted through the fabric. "I'll let you up here once we get past the county line."_ _

__Stiles doesn't really understand, but he lets himself be eaten once again by the pile of blankets. His eyes itch from the sawdust, and his throat is scratchy from whatever else is matted into the blankets, but a sense of hope swells in the bottom of his stomach._ _

__He's out of that hell hole. He's going home._ _

__The radio is blasting some oldie song that Stiles can't identify from where he's at._ _

__The driver of the truck, who Stiles assumes is Dr. Peterson, veers off to the side of the road and parks the vehicle. "Alright." He says. "Get up here, boy."_ _

__Stiles throws the blankets off of him and clambers into the front seat, buckling with shaky hands._ _

____"You can't even stop shaking to buckle yourself."__ _ _

__"Sshh." Stiles whispers, smoothing out the sweatpants covering his thighs._ _

__Dr. Peterson doesn't say anything about the hushed noise, instead he pulls back out onto the road and continues down the pavement._ _

__Carry on My Wayward Son blares through the radio as they speed down the twisted back road, Dr. Peterson now in a faded t-shirt and jeans instead of his white doctor scrubs._ _

__The man bobs his head to the music, singing along at the top of his lungs. Stiles has to keep his eyes castes down at the jacket folded in his lap. He can't look over at Dr. Peterson, because it hurts._ _

__The voices inside his head don't like the man. They get loud and upset when Stiles looks at Dr. Peterson. It's better just to focus on his hands, anyway. No attachment at all to Dr. Peterson. If he suddenly decides to shoot Stiles or something, it won't be as upsetting as if Stiles had grown to enjoy the man._ _

__The song doesn't even get to end before it is cut out completely and replaced by static. Dr. Peterson pulls over to the side of the road and gets out, leaving Stiles by himself._ _

__The boy bounces his knee for a moment, lifting his head to look around warily. They are parked in a ditch. In the middle of the forest. At night._ _

__"Wonderful idea, Dr. Peterson. Just wonderful." He mumbles, curiosity getting the best of him. Stiles unbuckles and slides out of the old pickup truck._ _

__Dr. Peterson is no where to be found. Stiles turns in a slow circle, eyes squinted at the darkness._ _

____'Run.'__ The Derek in his head says. __'Now!'___ _

__A hand clamps down over his wrist before he gets the chance to bolt. A man stands there, grinning wickedly from behind a pair of sunglasses._ _

__"It's a little bright out tonight, isn't it?" Stiles manages to say, his voice surprisingly even despite his frayed nerves._ _

__The man chuckles, dragging the thin boy to his parked van, one that Stiles didn't see from inside the truck._ _

__"What-"_ _

__The man silences him with a back-handed smack across the face. "Shut up."_ _

__Stiles huffs and tries to yank his hand away. The man must be something supernatural, considering the fact that he simply picks up the boy and tosses him in the back of the van._ _

__Stiles lands in a heap of tangled limbs on the metal floor, only slightly aware of the doors being slammed shut. He sits up in time to hear the metallic drag of a chain as the doors are locked, and muffled voices as the van revs up and starts driving._ _

__"Let me go home!" He wails, banging his hands on the closed door. "I'm fine, I promise, I'm fine. Let me go home. I need to go home."_ _

__He screams until his voice is raw, and even then he continues to mumble. The boy turns, pressing his back against the metal doors, and slides down so he's sitting. Stiles pulls his knees to his chest, sobbing into his jeans._ _

__The van makes a sharp turn, throwing Stiles on to his side. The boy whimpers, practically folding in on himself._ _

__He lets the engine lull him into a lucid state. Stiles wonders what happened to Dr. Peterson, but his thought are mainly on the Hale who requested him._ _

__This can't be part of their plan._ _

__xxx_ _

__The engine stops some time later. Stiles can't be sure if it's been hours or minutes, but all of a sudden the doors are opening and a hand reaches in to pluck the boy from where he's curled up on his side._ _

__Stiles can't even manage a feeble remark. The man who grabbed him frowns at Stiles' green complexion. He hardly gives the boy enough time to bend over and expel the contents of his stomach before shoving him onto the ground, only barely missing the puddle of vomit._ _

__"You wanted him, correct?"_ _

__"Yes." A female voice replies, she sounds upset, or maybe just disappointed. "But did you really have to kill my best dealer?"_ _

__"Sorry ma'am." The man replies. "Only doing my job."_ _

__"Whatever." She huffs, yanking Stiles to his feet. "This will do. And I assume the money given to you prior to this occasion was sufficient?"_ _

__"Yes."_ _

__"A pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Myers."_ _

__"Any time, Miss Hale."_ _

__Stiles pukes again. The girl doesn't comment on it. She leads Stiles down the road a little while longer before veering off to the side and pushing him into the woods._ _

__"-won't do a fucking thing without you. Stupid brooding little-"_ _

__"Huh?" Stiles gasps, clutching his abdomen. He feels like he's being torn in two._ _

__"Nothing." She sighs, stopping suddenly and shoving Stiles to the floor._ _

__"Wha-"_ _

__"Sshh!" She hisses, delivering a swift kick to Stiles' chest, keeping him pinned to the floor. "Stay down, do you hear?"_ _

__Stiles nods, watching as the outline of the Hale disappears._ _

____Cora.__ _ _

__No sooner does she vanish from sight, a pair of cloaked hunters appear. "Where'd she go?"_ _

__They have a slight Hispanic accent, according to Stiles' small encounter with any foreign language speaking people. It could actually be anything, but he sticks with Hispanic._ _

__Stiles watches them disappear in the same direction as Cora went before standing, wobbly on his feet. Whatever those capsules were, they gave him horrible side-effects. Maybe they were supposed to be taken with food._ _

__Hah. Food. Imagine that._ _

__Stiles wanders in another direction, deciding it's better to get as far away as possible from the people with crossbows and guns. It probably isn't a good idea to get shot, but you know, whatever._ _

__Getting shot isn't one of Stiles' number one priorities at the moment. He's more worried about spending the night in the middle of the woods in god-knows-where with creepy things lurking in the dark._ _

__Yep. Getting shot would probably ease his pain at the least._ _

__Stiles wanders aimlessly, focusing more on his surroundings than on the ground in front of him. He hears the crack of a twig behind him before the sound of his feet splashing through water._ _

__Stiles lets out a very unmanly squeal as he slides through the muck, landing with a splash in the water. He frowns, feet scrabbling beneath him as he tries to stand._ _

__One of the hunters steps into view on the other side of the pond, staring daggers at Stiles._ _

__The hunter raises his gun, and Stiles swears he can hear the bullet click into place. He sucks in a breath, bracing himself for the bullet when he's tackled face-first into the water._ _

__He's totally not supposed to bend this way._ _

__The person on top of him keeps Stiles under the water. All the boy can hear is the distorted sound of people yelling and shots being fired._ _

__Then, he's out of the water and standing on his feet. Derek Hale keeps the boy pressed against his chest, glaring across the lake at his sister and uncle._ _

__Cora screams something unidentifiable, kicking a bloody carcass beneath her. She whips around suddenly, staring back at Derek._ _

__"I had them, dammit! I had them, Derek, if your stupid human hadn't-"_ _

__"Shut up, Cora." Peter hisses, hurrying around the pond to meet Derek and Stiles._ _

__The human takes that as a perfect time to abruptly try to heave up the rest of the contents of his stomach, only managing to toss up slimy yellow bile._ _

__He coughs, shaking his head. "I want to go home." He rasps, feeling feverish and clammy._ _

__"We'll take you home, Stiles." Derek mumbles, lifting the boy up and carrying him through the woods._ _

__Stiles leans his head on the wolfs shoulder, trying to ignore the screaming voices in his head._ _

____'Get away, Stiles.'__ The Derek in his head is yelling at him, overpowering the others. __'That's not really me.'___ _

__"I don't understand." He mumbles in response. "Use your words, Derek."_ _

__"Hm?" The Derek holding him hums in confusion, and the one in his head has a panic attack._ _

____'Get out, get out, get out, get-'__ _ _

__He doesn't realize he's crying until Derek stops and sets the boy down._ _

__"No!" Stiles reaches for Derek, longing for anything close to normal. Even if Derek hated him before, the brooding wolf is better than nothing. "Don't leave me."_ _

__"I'm not." Derek says, shaking his head. "But who the hell are you talking to, Stiles?"_ _

__"You."_ _

__"Other than me."_ _

__Stiles pauses. ".. You."_ _

__Derek groans, shaking his head. "Don't play with me, Stiles. Here I was, thinking you were gone only to hear that my sister needed my help because a bunch of hunters were on your tail. Don't play with me."_ _

__"I'm not." Stiles says, reaching his hands up to grip at his hair. "You're inside my head, Derek! I'm talking to both of you."_ _

__"That's not me." Derek says with finality. He pulls Stiles closer to his chest, the human draping himself over the wolf with a sigh._ _

__"Don't let me go." Stiles whimpers, shaking from the fear or adrenalin or whatever else is pumping through his veins. His sweatshirt sticks to his skin like wet paper, drooping and sagging along the boy's arms and sides._ _

__Maybe it's the fact that he's almost died multiple times tonight, or that Derek is the only one who seems to care that he's back._ _

__Either way, he feels drawn to the wolf in a creepy way. He shouldn't be. He's a boy. Derek's a boy. Didn't Uncle Rick say that was wrong?_ _

__Stiles is sure he's heard some kind of scripture about that._ _

__"I won't." Derek replies simply, picking Stiles up. The human wraps his legs around Derek's middle, letting the wolf carry him inside the loft._ _

____I need to keep you from getting hurt. I hurt everyone, Derek. You have to stop. You have to-__ _ _

__All the pain melts off when Derek lays Stiles down. It all smells like Derek, and Stiles can't help the little noise that escapes him as he rolls over, pressing his face into the wolfs pillow. He's still shaking, but he lets his eyes close._ _

__All it took was one moment, and Stiles is confronted with his dad's slack jaw and blood splattered sheets. Stiles screams into the pillow, Derek immediately rolling the boy back over._ _

__Stiles is breathing hard, chest heaving as he stares up at Derek. The wolfs blue eyes stare back down at Stiles, confused. "What?"_ _

__Stiles shakes his head, eyelids drooping as he feels the weight of sleep pressing down on his chest. "Nothing. Thanks."_ _

__Derek doesn't reply. Instead, he stands and walks to the other side of the room, sitting down in a plastic chair and opening a laptop. Stiles' laptop, for that matter._ _

__Stiles almost says something about it when the grating noise of Derek's loft door distracts him. Isaac bounds into the room, wide blue eyes latching onto Stiles with confusion and uncertainty._ _

__Cora and Peter follow after him, seeming to flank the boy._ _

__"Stiles?" He breathes, taking a step into the room. Derek snarls, Isaac freezing mid-step to glance worriedly at Derek. "He's not dead?"_ _

__"Dead?" Stiles croaks, sitting up. Derek walks over and shoves the boy back down, Stiles huffing in protest._ _

__"Yeah." Isaac continues, ignoring the warning growl from Derek as he walks closer to the bed. "There was a letter that said you had died, that's why your dad-"_ _

__"Isaac." Derek cuts him off, glaring at the blonde boy. "Go tell Scott, okay?"_ _

__Isaac bobs his curly head of hair, turning on his heel and running to the door, sliding it shut with a click. "Dead?" Stiles repeats, looking from Derek to the door, where Cora and Peter still stand._ _

__"It doesn't matter." Derek says, pulling the blinds close. "Sleep. Now."_ _

__"Use your words." Stiles retorts, his grin almost sly as he glances at Derek. "Sourwolf."_ _

__"Not now, Stiles." Derek sits back down in the plastic chair. "Sleep."_ _

__And for a moment, Stiles actually considers it. Before he realizes that he'll be confronted with everyone who has grown to hate him, of course._ _

__xxx_ _

__It becomes increasingly apparent that the Hale family doesn't enjoy the fact that Stiles hears voices._ _

__Maybe it's not the voices as much as the fact that he really _is_ crazy after all._ _

__Stiles has done plenty of research before he was possessed, or cursed, or haunted, or whatever you want to call it._ _

__He knows how to supposedly rid himself of demons, but it's not known to actually work._ _

__When he started looking for information, all Stiles found was a whole bunch of sad and/or creepy Tumblr blogs, some old biblical stuff, and a couple porno videos (which, by the way, was not at all appeasing)._ _

__He stumbled upon a couple of old scriptures and drawings that pointed Stiles in the right direction, and now he thinks he's almost cracked the code._ _

__The code is cracked enough for Stiles to actually try his magnificent plan._ _

__Stiles sits on Derek's bed, finishing the lines he is drawing on himself in mountain ash. He feels a tugging sensation in the middle of his chest, tingling fingers sliding up and down his spine._ _

__He almost believes it's going to work before he hears the voices._ _

____'I'm here, Stiles.'__ It's the Derek inside his head._ _

__"Der-"_ _

____'We're coming to get you.'__ _ _

__"What?"_ _

____'It's too late, dear. You're too late to stop us now.'__ _ _

__"I don't-"_ _

____'Shh, dear. Don't fight it.'__ _ _

__"Stiles!"_ _

____'We can get him too, Stiles.'__ _ _

__"No." Stiles whispers, brain foggy._ _

____'Play nicely, then. Come with us.'__ _ _

__"I.. I can't."_ _

____'Stiles. Now. Or we take him too.'__ _ _

__"Stiles, wake up! Can you see me? Stiles? Sti, look at me. Look-"_ _

__"I'm sorry." Stiles says hoarsely, shutting his eyes. Multiple pairs of yellow eyes stare back at him, laughing at his failed attempt to save himself. Derek's laughter is above the rest, cackling with demonic force._ _

__xxx_ _

__"It's not good to mess with magic, Stiles." Deaton says, the boy groaning at the pain that stabs through his head at the noise._ _

__He tries to cover his face with his hands, but Stiles can't move. He's strapped to the metal table. "What..?" His voice is scratchy. From the screaming, he assumes._ _

__"The restraints? We had to get the demons out of you. It wasn't easy, especially since you played with magic, but I think we might have done a decent job."_ _

__"Decent?" Scott. Stiles tries to turn his head, but it's locked in place. "That was awesome. We ripped that thing out of you like some kind of bandaid or something."_ _

__"Oh yes," Derek mumbles from some corner of the room. "Please, keep referring to demons as bandaids."_ _

__"Ooh." Stiles barks out a dry laugh. "Is that sarcasm, Derek? I didn't think you used sarcasm, Mr. Serious."_ _

__"Shut up, Stiles."_ _

__Deaton silences them and steps toward Stiles, staring down at the boy. "How do you feel, Stiles?"_ _

__"Like my insides are coated with sand." He mumbles, trying to pull his arms out of the restraints. "Please?" He swallows the lump in his throat. "I.. I need.."_ _

__"You know I can't let you up yet, Stiles." Deaton replies sternly. "Not until we know you're not going to hurt yourself or anyone else."_ _

__"I won't." Stiles whispers, voice cracking. "Let me up. Please let me up."_ _

__"Stiles-"_ _

__The roaring in his ears blocks Deaton out. Stiles is breathing heavily, his heart pounding in his chest. Suddenly, he's back in Rick's office, tied to a chair, gagged, and blindfolded._ _

__Stiles screws his eyes shut, trying to block out the images. He feels the hands on his stomach, the fingers fumbling with his belt. He hears Rick talking, soothing him, telling him he's going to get the demons out._ _

__Stiles screams, arching his back on the metal table. He can't get up. He can't get free. Can't get away from the memories._ _

__But then he is away. He's on the other side of the room, pressed up against someone's chest. Stiles whimpers, shoving his face into the persons shoulder. He's shaking, the feeling of Ricks hands still on his abdomen._ _

__"I told you." Derek growls, the noise rumbling through the chest Stiles is pressed against. "I told you he touched Stiles."_ _

__"But he's a preacher." Deaton replies. Stiles scoffs, lifting his head._ _

__"He used the bible as a weapon and we always fought in the church. He's some kind of preacher, Deaton. Really. I recommend him to anyone who's hurting. He sure helps."_ _

__"Now is not the time for sarcasm, Stiles." Deaton says, shaking his head. Stiles turns in Derek's grasp, pressed against Derek's chest. "If he raped you, we can-"_ _

__"Deaton." Scott snaps at the expression that blooms across Stiles' face at the word._ _

__Rape. It never occurred to him that that's what was happening. He was raped. By his uncle._ _

__"Oh my god." Stiles whispers, eyes wide. His stomach lurches at the thought, and he doesn't make it a step forward before he's throwing up all across Deatons floor._ _

__Guess it's sort of a habit by now. Puking whenever he can._ _

__xxx_ _

__Stiles sits cross-legged on the floor, staring blankly ahead of him. Derek stands in the doorway, watching the human._ _

__Stiles moves his hands along the metal badge, almost mechanically. His lips twitch in a frown._ _

__"Derek?"_ _

__The wolf steps into the room, moving to stand next to the window. "Hm?"_ _

__"Tell me."_ _

__Derek sighs, closing his eyes. "Okay, I guess we'll start from the beginning. Your dad sent you to live in the church with your uncle. We all thought you were actually getting help. We kept getting these letters that said you were making progress and everything._ _

__"Then one day, a letter came in that said you passed away. You had supposedly killed yourself, but obviously you didn't because you're here, and your dad lost it."_ _

__"So he's actually dead? That letter was telling the truth?"_ _

__Derek nods, leaning his head against the window. "Yeah. Sorry about him, Stiles. I managed to help keep Scott under control, though."_ _

__"I know. Thanks." Stiles mumbles in response._ _

__Derek doesn't say anything. Stiles doesn't ask any more questions._ _

__For once, the babbling, sarcastic bundle of energy is quiet and distant. Derek doesn't know how to handle the change._ _

__xxx_ _

__Stiles stays with Derek until he gets things under control, and it seems Derek is apparently a part of Scott's pack now. He and the twins, actually. And Kira is just kind of.. There._ _

__Stiles isn't very fond of Kira, but what are you going to do when you don't like your best friends girlfriend?_ _

__Nothing._ _

__Don't break the bro-code._ _

__Derek doesn't seem to mind the constant teenagers in his loft. Or at least he keeps his cool around Stiles, who is in a pretty fragile state at the moment._ _

__He can't go home. He can't be in the same house by himself where his dad died. He just can't do it._ _

__Scott's mom made the decision for Stiles to sell the house. He'll move in with the McCalls for the rest of the school year, and then he will probably go off to college._ _

__Considering he was MIA for most of the second semester, scholarships are probably out of the question._ _

__But Derek says he'll help pay. Scott says it's because Derek feels bad and understands what Stiles is going through. Isaac says it's because Derek loves Stiles._ _

__Stiles says it's time for both of them to fuck off and mind their own business._ _

__He dances around Derek's kitchen, humming to himself. The song playing through the radio is one that he knows, but he didn't think Derek would listen to that kind of music._ _

__He seems like a screamo/heavy metal type of guy. Not The 1975 type of guy with Chocolate on one of his mix tapes. This particular song is one of Stiles' favorites._ _

__He hums, wooden spoon in hand, and twirls around the space. "And your lips taste like-"_ _

__"What are you doing?"_ _

__Stiles freezes, spoon in one hand and mixing bowl in the other. "Derek!" He squeaks. "Uhm.. Hello.."_ _

__The wolf huffs, yanking open the radio and grabbing the cassette tape out. "Who gave you this?"_ _

__"It was in the radio." Stiles shrugs, turning back around. He stirs the batter in the bowl. "I didn't know that radios were off limits. Sorry, Derek."_ _

__The wolf sighs behind Stiles. "No. It's just something that Laura and I made. I thought I lost it."_ _

__"Nope." Stiles says, throat clicking. He doesn't know what to do, so he continues to mix the dough. Then he places the cookie dough on the sheet in giant blobs._ _

__"That's all going to run together."_ _

__"Shh!" Stiles frowns, turning to glare at Derek. " _I_ am the cookie master. You need to go away."_ _

__Derek smirks at him before turning and walking out of the kitchen. "Whatever you say, cookie master."_ _

__Stiles shoves the cookies into the oven, tip-toeing over to Derek. He jumps at the wolf, only to be thrown against the wall._ _

__"Hey!" Stiles frowns. "I was gonna scare you."_ _

__"To scare me," Derek says, "you actually have to be quiet for once."_ _

__"I've been quiet before." Stiles retorts, sticking his bottom lip out in a pout._ _

__"I know." Derek mumbles, his slight grin from before masked once again by the stormy expression he usually wears._ _

__Stiles doesn't register the lips on his until Derek has already pulled away and sulked off in the direction of his bedroom._ _

__The human stands there, dumbfounded, and watches Derek shut himself off._ _

__"The hell?"_ _

__xxx_ _

__"He totally loves you." Isaac states, shoving another slice of pizza in his mouth. "Haven't I said this before?"_ _

__Aiden bobs his head. "You have."_ _

__"Thought so." Isaac smirks around the sauce in his mouth. Stiles grimaces at the sight._ _

__"You're gross."_ _

__The twins and Isaac erupt into a torrent of laughter. "No man," Ethan says, "you've just been locked up."_ _

__"Lacking proper male skills." Aiden adds._ _

__"Both of you shut up." Scott sighs, walking into the kitchen. "I'm tired of hearing you all pick on anti-possessed Stiles."_ _

__"Hey." Stiles frowns. "I wasn't possessed."_ _

__"Whatever you say, man." Isaac shrugs. "But Derek loves you."_ _

__"Says who?"_ _

__"The love doctor." Ethan, Aiden, and Isaac all say at the same time before erupting into another fit of laughter._ _

__xxx_ _

__Stiles isn't good with stress. He lays in his bed in the attic of the McCall house, frowning at the ceiling. His palms are bloody from where he has been digging his nails into the skin._ _

__He stands and walks over to his dresser, picking up a picture of his dad and his mom on their wedding day. The boy throws the frame against the wall, a mixture of strange emotions churning in the pit of his stomach._ _

__He doesn't expect the voice to come from the doorway._ _

__"What are you doing?"_ _

__Stiles jumps at the sound, whirling around to find Derek Hale standing in the corner of his room. "What the hell? Get out!"_ _

__"No." Derek replies simply, walking over to Stiles and picking up the picture. "Why did you throw this?"_ _

__Stiles doesn't reply. He digs his nails into the already shredded skin of his hand. Derek growls, forcing Stiles to unclench his fist. "Why?"_ _

__That's all he says._ _

__Stiles shakes his head. "Go away."_ _

__"Not until you give me a reason."_ _

__"It hurts!" Stiles yells at Derek, a flare of anger blooming in his chest. "It fucking hurts, Derek. I'm confused and alone and in a fucking attic, and it hurts."_ _

__"I know." Derek sighs, forcing Stiles to lay on his bed. "I know it hurts, Stiles."_ _

__"How'd you even get in here?"_ _

__Derek grins, a flash of teeth in the almost dark room. "I have my ways."_ _

__Stiles almost wonders why no one is coming up the stairs yet. Maybe Derek actually used the door. But since when did Derek Hale use doors or act like a normal human at all?_ _

__"Were any squirrels harmed?"_ _

__Derek doesn't seem to know how to answer that question. Stiles laughs at that, letting Derek sit there and brood in silence._ _

__Derek puts bandaids on Stiles' palm, covering the crescent-shaped wounds._ _

__"Why are you here?" Stiles asks sleepily, letting Derek tuck him into bed._ _

__Derek doesn't answer. He pulls the blankets over Stiles and gets to work cleaning up the broken glass._ _

__Stiles almost misses the light press of lips to his forehead, and the quiet mumbled words before the door to his new room is shut with a click._ _

__"Love you too, Sourwolf."_ _

**Author's Note:**

> Whoops! Looks like I'm procrastinating against updating _Drowning In Reality_. Hopefully you don't mind. 
> 
> Anyway, here.
> 
> One of my friends suggested that I write a smutty sequel and told me this one was boring.
> 
> My other friend told me to go to sleep and stop bothering her with my fanfiction problems.
> 
> You decide. I'm up for whatever.
> 
> Oh. I joined the play, so I won't be able to update as often because of my newly jam-packed schedule. Yeah, I know. I of all people have a filled schedule. 
> 
> Uhm. Rambling again. Bye now.


End file.
